


decal

by pomme (manta)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, and kenma interacting with certain characters, includes third year kenma, just... expect a lot of kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/pomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But they swarm around Kenma like moths to a shielded flame; they mingle among themselves, abuzz with life, and he keeps walking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	decal

**Author's Note:**

> decal (noun):  
> a design prepared on special paper for durable transfer on to another surface such as glass or porcelain.
> 
> \-- 
> 
> For the lovely lark, as a 4 month belated birthday present and just because! I'm sooooooo nervous... I hope you like it ;^;
> 
> Thanks to Alex, who handled my out-of-the-blue yells with much grace (SWEARTING), and the wonderful Jun, as always.

Sometimes, it surprises Kenma still.

He walks down the path leading away from Nekoma, head and ears attuned to his phone. Maybe it's time for a haircut, Kuro points out, laughing when Kenma curls his bottom lip upward to blow wayward strands from his face, only for the wind to sweep them back.

Maybe, Kenma ponders vaguely. He'd borrow a hair pin, but Kuro doesn't use any on his bedhead. It's a wonder his depth perception remains perfect.

Kuro doesn't even need to look back to sense them. "Here they come."

And a moment later, Kenma hears the scuff of multiple pairs of feet, all at different speeds, out of time. There's no practice, no point even being together today - and yet, they come.

A frenzied "kennnMA-SAAAAANNNN!" starts small, then grows in alarming volume. Kenma only has time to think of the Doppler effect, turn and note a blur ahead of the pack, catch a glimpse of _something_ speeding toward him before-

"First!" Lev declares, ungracefully skidding to a stop to tap him on the head.

"Oi." Kenma bats his hands away.

"Cheater!" Inuoka calls, not far behind. "Not fair!"

"I said, the first to reach Kenma-san wins!" Lev crows, tapping Kenma again for emphasis.

" _Oi_. _"_

Kenma's scolding swat loses its sting when Lev's obediently waiting.

Shibayama, hands on his knees, takes a beat to catch his breath. "I clearly heard you say the _tree_ next to Kenma-san, Lev-kun!"

"Same difference!" The ginkgo is only five steps away from Kenma, and Lev doesn't even have to move to jab at it. " _Now_ I win!"

He's met with more protestations from Inuoka and Shibayama.

"You only counted to two before you took off!"

" _We_ were careful. Where did you send Class 2's Fukumi flying off to??"

The first years continue to argue ("I _did_ count off!" "'YAHHHH' doesn't count as a number!"). Kenma turns away, and the rest of the team falls into rank with him. Tora and Kuro pick up where they left off on a discussion about the new action movie, Kai interjecting every so often. Shouhei leans in the space over Kenma's left shoulder to peer at his progress on the phone screen. It's noisy, and Yaku jostles Kenma on his right, grinning as if he knows what Kenma's thinking.

Students turn at the burst of sound. But the team swarms around Kenma like moths to a shielded flame; they mingle among themselves, abuzz with life, and he keeps walking.

 

* * *

 

The training camp dining room's far more crowded than Kenma would like. Rowdy, too. He can't hear himself think over the hubbub that five boys' volleyball teams can make, and veers off with his food toward a relatively undisturbed bench.

He's only taken the first sip of his miso soup when someone barrels in. Shouyou looks around in sweeping, jerky movements, right hand unnecessarily shielding his eyes, and finally spots who he's searching for.

"Kenma!" he shouts, and Kenma colors at his unabashed delight. "I was looking for you! Sorry I was late! Did you get my text? You probably didn't, I hit send just as Saeko-neesan turned that corner-"

Shouyou tries making a direct beeline for the bench, before he realizes he's going directly against the traffic of the line waiting for lunch. Cowed by at least fifteen glares, all by players considerably taller, he hastily apologizes and picks his way around the long tables instead.

"Oi, watch where you're going!"

Shouyou's plowed into his main setter. Kageyama furrows his brows. "Where _are_ you going? Did you lose your sense of direction along with your brain? The rest of the team's _that_ way."

Hinata twitches at the insult, but he's a man with a mission. "I'm eating with Kenma, of course!"

"O-oh." Kageyama glances up, and throws a hesitant glance in Kenma's direction. Outside of the court, Kageyama retains the aggressive slant to his eyes and the furrow in his brow. But his roughness has an unsure edge to it, and Kenma understands: their last conversation wasn't quite a conversation, because Kageyama didn't know how to start it and Kenma didn't know how to end it.

When Kageyama hesitates a moment too long, Shouyou impatiently takes the front of his tray to tow him along. "You come too!" Shouyou tells him, like that's the obvious action to take.

Kageyama's astute counter: "Hah?!"

Shouyou pulls the face where he pouts, frowns, and puffs out his cheeks all at once. It's an expression Kenma's come to recognize, the one where Shouyou's figuring out how he lost to Kenma, whether in a real or virtual game. "What do you mean, _hah_?" Shouyou demands. "I'm saying eat with us, dumbass!"

"D-dumbass." Kageyama blinks. " _You're_ calling _me_ a dumbass."

"Th-" Kageyama's not quite over the shock of being called a dumbass, and Shouyou looks like he's about to think better of it. But the moment passes, and Shouyou sticks out his tongue. "That's right! Dumbass!" And he continues his race toward Kenma, bringing along with him an irate Kageyama who's yelling, "I'll show _you_ who's the dumbass!"

That's how Shouyou is - blunt and direct like a club. But the club is leading the demon, for once.

"Hinata, Kageyama! Don't run!" The other Karasuno setter shouts down the aisle, from where he and Yaku are helping pour drinks. Sugawara exasperatedly whirls back round to see a threesome sprinting to the manager Shimizu, cups proffered. "That goes for you too, Tanaka, Noya!" he calls at the trio's retreating backs. "You're setting a terrible example!"

"Yamamoto, don't think I can't see you!" Yaku fills a cup with barley tea, stopping right where he should despite his irritation. "And _you_!" he yells, loud enough for his voice to carry over to Lev. "Mind your noodle arms. People want to eat their food, not walk into a plateful of it!"

The din of the room smothers Kenma's laugh.

 

* * *

 

They're practicing again, Kuro and Bokuto and Tsukishima and Shouyou and Lev, in the aimlessly inexhaustible manner Kenma doesn't care for.

Indefinite practice befits everyone poised to play. Everyone, that is, except Tsukishima, who's perfectly aware of this fact; it's why he fortified himself with a second bottle of water and extra grit in how his lips set as he stepped grimly into the gym. Kenma, who pretended not to hear Kuro and Bokuto's loud invitations, and Shouhei, who came from the dining room carrying a plate piled with watermelon slices, settled on the outside steps instead.

Now, Shouhei's humming something indiscernible under his breath, his quiet voice lost to the wind. Kenma's curled up, knees drawn to his chin, PSP in hand but not switched on. He glances briefly inside the gym because there's an outlier: Akaashi, who didn't manage to immediately extricate himself from Bokuto's strong arm slung around his shoulders, would take a little longer to make his escape.

Eventually, Akaashi disentangles himself from the merry group. He pauses at the path of things Bokuto unceremoniously tossed on his way to the court, and Kenma hears an " _h_ _onestly_ , _Bokuto-san,"_ as Akaashi stoops to pick everything up. But for all of Bokuto's exuberance, Akaashi will set to him when he demands it. Like Kenma, Akaashi won't do anything he truly doesn't want to do.

Once Akaashi's neatly piled Bokuto's possessions on the bench, he finally steps foot outside the gym. "Hey."

"Hey," Kenma returns, and Shouhei nods in greeting.

Akaashi's eyes flick between the powered off console, Kenma's and Shouhei's bodies turned toward the gnawed watermelon slices on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Watching ants."

After Shouhei fired seeds out at a speed that would crown him champion of a bullet seed competition if it existed (which it does, Kenma muses, there's a competition for everything these days), they placed the remains on the floor and observed what came.

"Sounds thrilling." Akaashi settles himself on the lowest step, nearest to the ground and the ants.

In this musty heat, just watching the ants exert themselves is enough strain for Kenma. But lured by the excited whoops, Shouhei starts fidgeting in his seat. He glances toward the open gym doors, at Kenma, at the doors again, back and forth.

"Go ahead," Kenma murmurs at last, his lips quirking. He and Shouhei seem alike on first impression with their penchants for silence. But Kenma speaks when he feels inclined to, and revels in the quiet; Shouhei won't speak, and revels in commotion with an enthusiasm Kenma won't match.

Shouhei touches Kenma lightly on the knee and rises to his feet. He drifts back into the gym, where he receives a hero's welcome from the gym's occupants. They make spirited plans for a three-on-three, and Akaashi's head tilts a little toward where light is spilling out of the entranceway.

The ants walk in a tireless line over the watermelon slices, one by one by one. Their journey across the uneven green-and-pink terrain creates a makeshift clock, where they push time forward with each step.

Kenma looks at Akaashi. He's staring thoughtfully at the assembly of little black bodies in sync, unmoving. Kenma's itch to turn on the PSP is just a dull urge, and he doesn't feel the need to shift about, either.

"I'm fine here on my own," he says, expecting the answer.

Sure enough, there's an amused lilt in Akaashi's voice. "I know."

Soon, it's too dark to see the ants anymore. Akaashi leans against the same concrete wall Kenma's sitting against to turn his gaze upward, from the specks on the ground to the ones in the night sky.

Kenma doesn't ordinarily concern himself with the stars. They're too far away, when there are more immediate matters like the cold and the heat, and he has more pressing matters on a screen centimeters from his nose. But just for today, he charts a trail of constellations to mark paths for imagined characters to follow, while Akaashi raises his finger to map indefinable patterns above.

They keep their silence: respectively occupied, shared nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

Then there's the kind of silence that's stretched taut, but no less comfortable.

Kenma's lying on his stomach, a pillow apiece cushioning every part of him. Tsukishima's in a corner, headphones on with his long legs crossed. Akaashi's sitting properly at the desk, and his perfect posture is from habit rather than obligation.

The only noise: buttons, deliberately pressed without frenetic drive, with infrequent pause. A creak, from Tsukishima readjusting his legs. A rustle, when Akaashi moves his elbow to prop his head in his hand. Kunimi, the room's owner, stretches on the bed, and Kenma briefly drums his fingers on the hardwood floor while he waits.

Four athletes, happy to do anything but apply themselves in the manner in which they met. Lazing around is admittedly not the first scene Kenma envisions when he thinks of volleyball. If he had known days of sweaty, sore misery could be punctuated with rare days like these, maybe he wouldn't have given Kuro such a hard time about being tugged outside to practice.

The tension breaks when Tsukishima's last Pokemon faints. The only indications are his muttered "Tch," as he rests his NDS in his lap, and the victorious smirk that flits across Akaashi's face. He turns around in the desk chair to look down, and deliberately locks eyes with Kenma.

Kenma wouldn't have a Gengar without trading with Akaashi. In turn, Akaashi wouldn't have an Alakazam without Kenma. But Kenma can't refuse a challenge, tinged with silent fervor, presented this _blatantly_.

Kunimi speaks from where he's sprawled, sock-clad feet propped against the wall. "I'm playing the winner."

 

* * *

 

**Shouyou [22:46:12]:**

UR FIRST PRACTICE MATCH IS TMRW??????

 

**Kenma [22:47:34]:**

you're excited enough to sound like youre the one playing

 

**Shouyou [22:47:56]**

SO IT IS TMRW!!!!!!!!!!!

 

**Kenma [22:48:41]**

yours too?

 

**Shouyou [22:49:37]**

next week!!!! ennoshita sans looking kinda green already

are you nervous kenma??

 

**Kenma [22:50:44]**

a little.... i might sleep early

night

 

**Shouyou [22:52:59]**

its one step closer to nationals!!!! NIGHT!!!!!!

**Shouyou [22:53:26]**

GOOD LUCK!!!!!!!!!

**Shouyou [22:53:40]**

CAPTAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

At around the same time last year, Kenma was standing next to Kuro in the bathroom, watching his childhood friend experience the only real case of nerves he had displayed as captain. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," Kuro had muttered, hands raking through the hair he usually made so much effort to tame. He stared wildly at his own reflection, all slickness in his voice gone. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this."

"I think you are," Kenma had said, lamely.

It hardly seemed an adequate phrase to sum up years of history. But Kuro froze, slowly brought his hands back to his sides. He swallowed hard, then grinned at Kenma in the mirror - more forced than Kenma would have liked, but it was there. "Thanks, Kenma. Well..." He exhaled. "We should go."

"Yeah," Kenma said. He exited the bathroom first, silently unenvying of Kuro's position, aware of his friend's eyes on his back.

Kuro had extended his arm for the customary team fist bump. He stood the tallest Kenma had ever seen him, and the sparks of something like pride stirred in Kenma's gut for a moment. That was before Kenma reminded himself to resent Kuro forever and always, because Kuro launched into the most embarrassing pep speech he had ever heard (and Kenma had heard plenty of those). Worse, it wound up being the one the team would wholeheartedly adopt for the entire year.

And now here Kenma stands, with complete comprehension of why Kuro needed a moment to collect himself. Standing in a circle, the team looks at him with wide, expectant eyes. The other team's dressed in deep purple, and muttering. Some throw glances at Kenma, and stare with unconcealed surprise at his stature and the "1" on his shirt.

He accidentally swapped jerseys. He's a masochist. He woke up in a parallel world, where everything is the opposite and he has to defeat the boss to restore order.

No, a lot has happened in the past twelve months. It's the nature of the real world: running without a straight path, bleeding every which way like water staining paper, unlike the pre-meditated precision of a video game.

"We're not gonna do... the _thing_?" Lev turns his face to one side, and slowly closes one eye in a very obvious wink.

"Don't ask," Kenma says, at the same time two first years ask, "What's the thing?"

Lev waits for the final first year to take the bait. When the setter doesn't, he receives a sharp nudge in the ribs. "Aren't you dying to know?"

"No."

Shouhei raises a finger to his lips, defusing Lev's indignant expression, and places his other hand forward in a fist. The team follows suit, and Kenma's about to groan aloud.

Then he's reminded of Kuro, who isn't here to make embarrassing speeches anymore, the ones Kenma balked at and which the previous team supported. Kenma's never been one for traditions. But this one's harmless, and if his team must borrow from it before finding their bearings and landing on their feet, that's all right - for now.

"Kozume-san?" Shibayama ventures.

Kenma knows what he must do.

"This is a one time thing. Maybe."

The team needs something stabilizing that reminds them of who they are, and what makes them strong. So Kenma bites back words like "Hurry up", or "Let's get this over with," merely nods once at his vice captain.

Tora sucks in a breath, lips clenched. He's clearly nervous, a rare occasion, and the words are a little choked at first. But his voice is forceful, and Kenma fixes his own gaze on the circle of adjoined fists.

"We are the body's blood. Flow smoothly and circulate oxygen, so the brain functions normally."

 


End file.
